§i don’t know how you got into me, down my throat and made a home in my veins.

§i feel like some sort of pseudo-archeologist digging at words and challenging myself to be less silent every day, to see what will come out of me and if what i am devoted to/entangled with will reveal itself to me. it always does.
i have been falling halfway into a dream and then jumping/falling awake, which happens a few times and usually includes some aspects of drool and fear. im not going to spend any time trying to figure out why its happening because i dont care to know why. sometimes Why exists to be ignored like old seductive things waiting to be relevant again. is that sad? does it matter? do you see how i think myself into trouble?
what am i entangled with? more importantly, what am i devoted to? sorting through my thoughts is like trying to find a radio station buried in an abundance of static. but i have to do it, and i have to do it before i do anything else. but i dont have to do anything. i tell myself i do, or i say i do because its a habit.
yesterday it was difficult to finish a thought. today is a bit easier. but there is no end to my natural train of thought here, just wondering when its acceptable to share the whys and when the noise is enough.